Elianne by Judy Nunn Page B

early in the morning, André driving them into Port Vila where they would board the ship bound for Bundaberg.
    Michel’s wife, Sera, a shy woman at the best of times, stood behind her husband, bobbing a form of curtsy to James, whom she obviously found daunting, and nodding her best wishes to Elianne.
    Elianne, however, was not prepared to let Sera, of whom she was extremely fond, go unrecognised. She hugged her warmly, Sera returning the hug. Then Elianne hugged young Simone, and then Mela, and then finally Pavi.
    André cast a wary glance in James’s direction, wondering how the Englishman felt about his new wife embracing blacks in so unashamed a fashion. But it appeared the Englishman had no qualms whatsoever. In fact to André’s utter surprise, the Englishman offered his hand to Pavi Salet.
    ‘Congratulations on your own forthcoming nuptials,’ James said as they shook hands, ‘I wish you both every happiness,’ and he smiled at Mela.
    ‘Thank you, sir.’
    James stood to one side while Elianne and Pavi exchanged faithful promises to write to one another. Then he waited patiently while Elianne comforted young Simone, who had become suddenly tearful at the prospect of missing her. James was in no hurry. It would not be seemly to bed his new wife during daylight hours anyway.
    Darkness was falling when the bride and groom finally retired to the guesthouse, which had been prepared for them. The oil lamps had been lit and, beneath mosquito netting, a cold supper had been set out on the table.
    James swept her up into his arms and carried her over the threshold as if she weighed no more than a feather, and Elianne laughed with delight at the sheer romance of the gesture.
    By unspoken mutual consent, they ignored the supper, Elianne retiring to the spare room where her nightgown and toiletries had been laid out. There was also freshly folded bed linen and a second nightgown, together with a pitcher of warm water and a basin on the wash-stand. All was in readiness. Nothing had been overlooked by André’s highly practical housekeeper, who served also as midwife to the local workers’ families.
    In the master bedroom, James stripped himself naked. Then he dimmed the lamps to a minimal glow, pulled the light coverlet over himself and lay waiting for her.
    Elianne prepared herself. She was not afraid. She longed for James to make love to her. She longed to discover the mystery of sex. But despite her partiality for romance, she was not naïve in her expectations. She had been witness to the brutality of both sex and birth, she had seen animals mating and she had helped deliver calves, she did not delude herself. There would be pain this first time, she knew it, but she had determined she would not cry out.
    In her nightgown, her body washed and perfumed, her hair freshly brushed, she crossed the hallway to the master bedroom opposite. She was aware of his eyes upon her as in the semi-gloom of the room she made her way to the bed. She slipped beneath the coverlet. Aware instantly that his body was ready for her, she steeled herself for the moment, expecting first to feel the touch of his lips on hers or the caress of his fingers on her body, something tender by way of preparation. But there was no such touch, no such caress. Instead, hands hauled up her nightdress and within seconds he was forcing his way into her.
    The pain was intense. With each thrust she felt she was being ripped apart, but true to the promise she had made to herself, she did not cry out.
    How long it lasted, Elianne could not possibly say, but finally, thankfully, it was over and he pulled away from her, sated, to lie on his back, his chest still heaving from the force of his own passion.
    When he’d regained his breath, he turned to face her. ‘I am sorry that I hurt you,’ he said. ‘You’re a brave girl, Ellie, not to cry out.’
    ‘I had expected pain,’ she said, trying hard not to show her disappointment, and wondering if perhaps this